


Then I Locked Myself In With It

by jasmiinitee



Series: Shadow Town [2]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Gen, Medication, Paranormal AU, Werewolf AU, Werewolf Transformation, and like have you tried keepin a clean shave before a full moon?, awkward naked morning, because it makes him look like a terrier, but like what else would it be after pacing around as a big ugly doggo, but then again he never had a dog as a kid, could be pre slash if you want to, jakes kind of grudgingly volunteers to help him home safely, might be some adhd morse again based on the mess at his flat, morse works overtime on a full moon night, morsestache, not as easy as one might think, sleepover but it's not horny it's kind of like petsitting, so might as well commit to the whole thing this one night, some light body horror, werewolf Morse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-04-24 20:33:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19180891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasmiinitee/pseuds/jasmiinitee
Summary: Peter thought it through a few times over the evening - at the station, pocketing the keys to a Jaguar at Thursday's orders; while driving, looking at Morse's obvious twitchy discomfort; finally waiting by the door of the building, looking at the quickly darkening sky. He did realise it wasn't an ideal situation. Or he thought he did.Apparently the reality of it all still hadn't managed to reach his brains all the way. He kind of only realised it, when he was staring into the ungodly full-moon eyes of an actual werewolf.





	1. Is the Moon Up Yet?

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my paranormal AU. Let's go through an entire full moon night together, not from a werewolf's perspective this time though.
> 
> I'm aiming for a bit of an upsetting brand of werewolf here, but still the sort that is fun to read about.  
> You know, kind of like the first Pirates of the Caribbean film: you can rest assured that the characters are justifiably horrified over their situation, but you as the audience are still allowed to have fun through it.

It wasn't late yet, so there was still light and traffic and people walking about; and the streets were a mess, but that was Oxford. As long as you didn't drive in front of a bus or over a cyclist, you were good.

 

It felt like a rude thing to be asking about, but Peter took comfort in his reputation as one of the less polite men around the station - at least as far as it was just them, the lads, no higher ranking commanders. Morse knew him well enough.

'So you… uh… there's some drug, some medicine, right?'

Morse was staring at the road as they drove past houses and cars, and Peter could swear that his _ears twitched_. Maybe he imagined it, because it wasn't dark yet. Not that dark, at least.

 

'Morse?' he asked. No, he hadn't imagined it, because it happened again. Morse turned to look at him, and he looked pretty worried. Tense like a bowstring.

'What?'

'I asked if you've got that… that drug thing.'

'Oh, you mean for the-' Morse's voice broke suddenly, a very strange crack, and he cleared his throat. 'For the night? I do, of course I do. I have the tablets somewhere. I have them home, not with me now.'

Peter gave him a look. 'Is there some time that you've got to take one at?' he asked. 'Will it be all right? There's no schedule?' It probably wouldn't do to have a werewolf turning _in the car_ , no matter if Morse was on the small size when he did.

Morse shook his head.

'So it's fine, then?'

'Yes. If I take it before I turn, I'll be all right,' Morse said calmly, even though his eyes were straining to follow all movement passing their car again.

 

'Or, well… _all right_. It helps you keep your wits about you, get some sleep, usually.'

' _Usually_?' Peter asked. What about the rest of the time? He squeezed the steering wheel a bit tighter.

'It's not a cure,' Morse said. 'Just… something to ease the whole thing a bit. Make it a bit less of an agony, in your head. And everywhere else. A painkiller, essentially. A sedative, in a way, and anti-curse enough to keep it from passing on.'

 

Well, that just sounded unpleasant. Peter switched the gears to get them past the last lights a bit faster.

It really sounded vile.

 

'I didn't know it hurts,' he said.

'What?'

'I didn't know that it hurts. When you turn.'

Morse laughed at him, once or twice, and made him jump with how loud and throaty the noise was. Peter didn't even know if he could really call it laughing anymore, but he didn't know a better word either.

'Right,' he said and shot Morse a quick glare. 'Glad you're having fun.'

'No, I…' Morse cleared his throat, scratching at his ear and neck. 'Sorry, I just… Well. You get used to it, but it _is_ your bones rearranging themselves entirely and the rest just racing to keep up.' He turned to look out of the window again.

'Oh,' Peter managed. 'Right. Yeah.'

 

 _Shit_. He was really locked inside a car with a werewolf at half past six on the eve of a full moon.

 

'Are you all right?'

'Is the moon up yet?'

Peter might have leaned over the wheel, and yanked his look up at the sky a bit quicker than was polite. Morse grumbled something under his breath.

'No, I can't see it. Not dark yet, anyway,' Peter said, and gave Morse a worried look. He kept scratching at the stubble under his jaw and tugging at his shirt collar.

'Then I'm all right,' he said, even if Peter could swear that the faint ginger stubble hadn't actually been there when they'd left.

'Okay.' He nodded. 'We're not far.'

'Yeah.'

 

'Do you know where you've got the, err, the painkillers?' Peter asked. It was bloody awkward, asking about things like that. Even more so when Morse went really quiet.

'I have them somewhere.'

'Yeah, where?' he asked again.

'I don't know,' Morse grunted.

 

Peter turned the corner to Morse's street and parked the car, yanking his seat belt open.

'I'm going to help you look.'

Morse looked shocked. 'What? No, no. I don't want you to have to spend your night worrying because my drawers are scattered.'

'If I leave now, I'm going to worry, regardless.' Peter took a deep breath and smiled. 'And if we find it early enough, I'll be as safe with you as now, right?'

Morse gave him a doubtful side-eyed glance, then he looked down at his shaky hands, also a bit fuzzier than before.

'Right?'

'Yes.' Morse huffed and closed his eyes, but nodded. 'Yes, all right.'

'Get out of the car, Morse,' Peter said, and Morse obeyed.

 

They got inside with little trouble, though Peter caught himself keeping watch of the sky a bit more than might have been proper, when Morse fumbled with his keys. It wasn't dark yet, and he couldn't see the moon, but he also had no idea how it all actually worked. Shockingly enough, he'd never sat down with a werewolf like this. He didn't know how much time they had left.


	2. He Managed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looking for the cure, which isn't a cure, and Morse is an anxious (and rather poor) host. Jakes is a detective.

The dingy corridor was familiar from the time or two he'd met with Morse, but he'd never been inside his flat before.

'Looks nice,' Peter offered. Morse snorted, but motioned him in.

A rather small bedsit, in a rather messy state, but it didn't really scream _werewolf_. There were no big scratches on the walls inside, and no angry messages from the neighbours on the door. The place just spoke of a man who wasn't one for decorating, maybe, or keeping his kitchen corner in order. There was a row of books and records, the only orderly thing he could see, a bottle of whisky waiting on a side table. A neatly made bed.

So, it was all very Morse. It was just Morse that didn't quite act like himself.

 

Peter took his coat off and hung it by the door over Morse's own. Morse went right to pacing around nervously, and threw his suit jacket over the back of a chair, pulling off his tie.

'I'll make some tea,' he said and gave Peter a quick look. 'I should serve you some tea, I think. If only for the help already.'

Peter shook his head. 'Thanks for the offer, but you really don't have to. I'm all right.'

'No, I…' Morse dragged his hands through his hair, looking around himself impatiently, and let out a sound that Peter didn't have the guts to disagree with. He watched as Morse went to set out two cups, looking for milk, running the water to get it boiling. 'You've been so helpful already. I must do something.'

'Morse, it's fine. Anyone would.'

'No one's ever done that,' Morse said huffily, like Peter was being a moron, and gave him a very forced smile. 'It's a thank you, all right? For driving the car. Please, sit down.'

 

Peter hoped that it wouldn't have stung quite like it did, when what Morse said dawned on him fully.

What was he going on about? Jim Strange talked about his cousins and uncles and friends and whatnot all the time. Morse had been up in the colleges, too, and they were full of night creatures. _No one_ had ever sat with him through a full moon?

 

'All right, then,' Peter said and cleared his throat. 'But nothing fancy, I'm easy.' He tried to smile a little, though it was strained. Morse's shoulders dropped in relief, anyway.

'Good. Thank you, uh… sit down,' he said and motioned for a chair. 'Sit down, I'll get it brewing.'

'Let's find those tablets first, Morse.'

'The package is here somewhere, it's really no trouble, I'm all right,' Morse insisted, but his hands were shaking. It didn't look promising. Peter lifted a hand and walked up to him.

'Yeah. Let's _find it first_ ,' he said as calmly as he could. 'Don't get cocky, now. After that's done you can brew me all the tea you want.'

'You don't have to stay,' Morse said, and gave him a pleading look that had no reason to look as dog-like as it did. Peter didn't want to start laughing at him.

'I'm not going to leave, either,' he said. 'And you taking your pills would really ease my mind over that.'

Morse let out a shaky breath, but nodded. He gestured at the shelves and drawers by his bed. 'It's just a regular-looking package. I don't know. Might be there. I'll look here.'

Peter nodded, and went to work.

 

It was a night-time curse, so the bedside table seemed like an obvious place to start. Morse was also the type to mope around and probably stare out of the window, so he'd check the pile of papers and bits and bobs on the side table after that.

 

Something clattered, and Peter turned to look over his shoulder. All he'd found were hastily scribbled shopping notes, bills and a comb. Morse was on his knees, digging through whatever was under his sink.

'You found it?' Peter asked.

'Yeah.' Morse threw the package on the kitchen counter and climbed back up on his feet.

'Why was it there?'

'It wasn't,' Morse snapped. 'It was behind the kettle. I dropped it, on accident.'

Peter didn't say anything. He had a feeling that he would have just agitated Morse further if he'd quipped something about maybe leaving work early enough to keep from shaking like a leaf.

 

Peter got up and tried not to look too lost, standing by the empty bed, while Morse worked the package and the pill bottle open.

'You mind if I smoke a fag?' he asked as he opened his jacket, patting the pockets. He needed something to do, something for his hands. Morse had his mouth full of water, but his frown and firm nod were clearly outraged enough without words, too.

'Right, werewolf, yeah. Full moon.' A keen nose for everything. Peter cleared his throat and stared at the carpet floor, hands on his waist. He was really making a fool of himself, but couldn't help his nerves.

'Open the window if you must,' Morse said.

'Yeah, I might need one for this,' Peter replied under his breath. Morse gave a small tight laugh, leaning heavily on the counter, but Peter reasoned that it was better than nothing. The window squealed and creaked when he worked it open, and Morse let out an angry groan at the sound.

'Sorry.'

'No, I know it does that.' He was still tense, but had stopped trembling.

 

Clearly the pill that Morse swallowed down with a glass of water was doing something, even though the packaging looked no worse than your usual aspirin or paracetamol. He was eyeing about and shaking in a less wild way. Even his breathing evened out a bit.

 

'So, that helps?' Peter asked clumsily, lighting his cigarette. Morse gave him a wary look.

'It should, yes,' he said, and looked at his glass and the drug package again. 'I've never needed to take two, though some say that you should if you've been feeling the moon for several days.'

'What happens if you don't?'

'Nothing, really. I'm not… feral. Not like the case we had in August. I was an easy pup.'

'Right. But…?'

Morse frowned, and the silly moustache just made him look all the more miserable. 'Well, I don't really know. I hardly remember anything about the night if I don't,' he said. 'If I was doing all right, we'd try to save a little on the costs, sometimes, when I was younger, so I guess I'm not… impossible to manage. My father managed.'

' _What_?' Peter asked.

'Take a look if you want.'

He wasn't quite prepared for a clean catch when Morse tossed the pills at him.

 

Just the first line of warnings (not for unaffected use) made Peter sneer, and he decided that he was _very_ happy to not be a werewolf or a vampire or a mystic or a selkie or whatever, no matter if he sometimes felt like the underdog in their midst.

They were prescription drugs, too, not something you could just go shopping for whenever you needed them. Just as Morse had said in the car: a painkiller, and something somewhat sedative; for a werewolf at least, but probably enough to knock Peter right out if he'd tried.

Morse started to prepare the tea, and Peter took comfort in the fact that he didn't clatter the cups and kettle and spoons like a pub musician anymore.

 

'Are you sure?' Morse asked, twisting his mouth behind the silly moustache. 'About staying the night.'

'Your father wasn't a werewolf?'

'No,' Morse said, with a tone that made it clear he wasn't going to say more about his family.

'Okay, so I'll be fine, then. If it keeps the curse from passing on, too, there's no problem.'

'Jakes. _Please,_ ' Morse said.

'I'm already here.' Peter shrugged. 'Not like I've got anywhere else to be.'

'Have you ever seen anyone turn?' Morse asked.

'No,' Peter said. He shrugged. 'I mean, I've seen were-folks turned, but never been present for the business.'

'It's not a selkie fur, I must tell you that, before you agree on anything.'

'Didn't think it was,' Peter scoffed and threw the butt end of his fag out of the window. 'Kind of got it from _bones rearranging_ and all that.'

'Were.' Correcting his grammar, of all bloody things.

'Whatever.'

Morse looked just sad, standing there and giving Peter an unsure look, hands clasped nervously in front of himself. Peter pulled the window shut and the curtains in front of it.

'Morse, I'm sure,' he said. 'At least you'll have a laugh tomorrow if I end up screaming like a girl, right?'

Morse didn't exactly smile, but gave a jerky nod anyway. He poured them tea, and offered Jakes a cup.

'Thanks.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have probably tagged morsestache in this. He's got it on. It looks like a terrier's beard and totally inspired me to do this whole AU.
> 
> Think Welsh terrier but man-sized. Gross.


	3. It's (Not) Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Werewolves are kind of wonky whichever way you look at them, not only during, but also right before full moon.

The tea was all right, but Morse didn't drink his. He glanced at his watch a few times, took it off, and kept it in his hand to look at nervously again.

 

Peter decided that just one of them standing around awkwardly was more than enough.

'Jakes, I…' Morse's hands were shaking and he was making that ugly barking-laughing sound again. Peter tried to look calm and reassuring as he sat down at the table.

'Yeah?'

'I'm sorry, I've… I must…' Morse took a deep breath and his cheeks were as red as an entire fire brigade. _'Peter_ , sorry, I have to, I really must take my clothes off. I'll do it, uh… by the wardrobe.'

'What?' Peter asked, and only caught on after asking. 'Oh? Sure. Uh, yeah, go ahead.'

Morse stared at him.

'I mean, figures you should, probably, if you're going to… Not fit them, soon.'

Morse gave a jagged nod, hesitated for just a minute, and started to undo the buttons on his shirt. Peter swirled the tea around in his cup to turn his eyes away.

 

 _God_. He probably shouldn't have been invading Morse's night like that, after all. Who stuck around, hanging about the place and drinking tea, while the poor bugger was getting stark naked on the other side of his small flat?

 

He'd seen Morse in his shirtsleeves countless times, and shirtless when he'd been patched up here and there, yeah; never before just all pale skin and wiry limbs, and an unsettling amount of new hair pushing through on his arms and chest, and the back of his neck and clunky shoulders, so fast that it was really starting to look like fur, and on his legs and thighs, and _yeah, all right, Peter was doing the worst job of being polite and not ogling in curious horror_.

'Sorry,' he said.

Morse gave him an embarrassed look, but at least he pulled on a well-worn dressing gown for the time being.

He went to pick up his own cup of tea for a sip, too, but abandoned it quickly. Honestly, he looked kind of sick. Peter couldn't blame him one bit.

 

It was quarter past seven, which was probably going to count as getting dark pretty soon.

 

Morse was even walking in a bit of a funny way - and by funny Peter was actually thinking _terrifying_ , looking like his feet didn't support his weight anymore, like he couldn't keep his balance properly. Kind of when you walked down a sun-warmed tarmac road barefoot, except not at all.

Peter cleared his throat and tried his best to look like he wasn't about to jump out of his skin.

 

'I think you'll find it ugly,' Morse said quietly.

'Well, I've seen some ugly things in my life,' Peter said.

Morse almost rolled his eyes. 'Not this.'

'Not this,' Peter agreed.

'If you decide to run, promise me you'll close the door, all right?' Morse asked, sounding a little out of breath. Peter nodded.

'Sure. But I'll stay.'

'It's not that I do anything bad, it's just that I tend to… wander,' Morse said. He shrugged, in a way that looked very wrong, and tried to smile a crooked little grin, though his teeth looked too big for his mouth. 'Would be inconvenient to wake up half-way to Reading in the morning.'

Well, seeing as poor jokes were all right. 'If what you've told and the picture in your files is as bad as it gets, I think I'll manage,' Peter said, and couldn't stop his snicker in time when Morse's eyes went wide.

'You've seen _the picture_? Of me?' he barked.

Peter smirked. 'I mean, official files, mate. They've got that there.' He spread his hands. 'I've _had_ to see it, I'm your superior officer.'

Morse groaned and buried his face in his hands.

'Cuter than most werewolves I've seen.'

'Yeah, hilarious,' Morse said. Whatever he'd planned to add got drowned under a vicious choking sound. Peter closed his mouth.

'You'll see it soon enough,' Morse said, voice hoarse and strange, and gave him an apologetic glance.

 

Peter held the tea cup in his hands, wondering _not for the first time that evening_ whether or not he had any common survival instinct in him, or whether he was just stupid enough to keep trying his luck when he shouldn't have.

 

A visible shudder ran through Morse.

Peter set his tea cup on the table and crossed his fingers to keep himself from picking at them. He was about to ask if he should have set out a bowl of water and a bone from the butcher's, just to lighten the mood a bit and get his nerves under control, but then the muscles in Morse's neck twisted and jerked, and he dropped to his knees.

It shut Peter up very quickly. He deserved and needed the biggest bloody night bonus of his life for this.

Another big shiver, and Morse gasped and yelped. He opened and closed his fists against the carpet, sprouting fur all over his neck and throat and chest. His whole body was shuddering and snapping loudly, and watching it felt like tuning for a radio channel you couldn't quite reach.

 

'Oh! JESUS!' Peter yelped, when a loud crunch came from Morse's spine. Like it was broken. 'Oh my bloody f… oh. Oh my God!' He covered his mouth with a hand. His heart hammered on in his throat.

'Peter,' Morse said, voice gargly and grunting and very much _not human_. 'Calm. All right. Settle.'

'Yeah, yeah, I'm all right!' Peter nodded in a panic. 'I'm fine, it's fine. Jesus.'

He wasn't. It really wasn't fine. He was gasping for breath, with no way of knowing what was to happen next.

 

And Morse jerked again, something hideous cracking in his wrists and ankles, and they were twisting all wrong, all too long and in a weird angle. Peter stared, he couldn't breathe, he was trying but he couldn't, his chest was hurting from it.

Morse's eyes were unfocused and watery behind the sweat-damp fringe of his hair and fur and all the rest, and he was drooling like an animal.

'Peter,' he said, or Peter thought he tried to. 'Breathe.'

'Yeah, I'm trying,' he whispered loudly, pressing himself as deep into the chair as he could.

The sound Morse let out in response was half a scream and half growl, something animal. He clawed at the carpet, and Peter stared.

 

When his nose and jaw made the same horrible sounds as the bones in his arms, Peter turned his head away. He screwed his eyes shut. Morse yelped and cried like a kicked dog once or twice. (Peter was pretty sure that he was actually the one keening aloud, even if Morse was the one writhing and gasping for air.)

 

And then it was over.

 

It didn't take long, and Peter cracked his eyes open slowly. There he was, just standing in the middle of the room. A small, trembling werewolf, red and brown, and some black over the ugly curve of the spine, the entire thing covered in rough shaggy fur that still stood up at the neck. Tail pressed between shaky legs.

 

Peter sat so still he felt like a statue. He suddenly remembered the story of the Greek snake lady Morse had mentioned, when they'd been to the Ashmolean to look for clues once, the one that turned people to stone. He was her victim right then, so it felt like. What the hell was her name?

 

He knew he'd really lost his nerve. Hell, Peter had just been joking about the damned identification picture in Morse's files, and the way that he almost looked like a country terrier in that one. But he couldn't help it, now that he was shaken to the bone and actually facing the thing.

Who in the bloody hell even provided those photos? Doctors? Was it something you needed for the drugs, to have your picture taken? That someone just confirming the curse wasn't enough?

Seeing the photo and reading the file and listening to Jim Strange's odd jokes and jabs at Morse wasn't the same as sitting three feet from a living, breathing werewolf. It just wasn't fun anymore. Morse just looked a little too wrong all over, breathing heavily and listening around himself like an animal.

 

But it was still him, wasn't it.

'Morse…?' Peter asked, but couldn't really get a sound out of his throat.

 

He wasn't really a dog, though he wasn't a wolf either, just some kind of a strange cocktail of a hell beast and a real animal, and then _some_. Even through all the thick coarse fur, Peter saw how the tendons in the legs were straining like a kid's catapult ready to shoot; how oddly the back curved, like no four-legged creature probably should have bent. The legs (the arms?) were stretched thin, and could twist sideways like he'd never seen a dog's joints do, and the toes of the hind paws were spread just a little too wide. It kind of looked like the front paws could still grab a clumsy clawed hold of something.

And yet Morse _surely_ wasn't a human person either, anymore, with how he moved and walked a bit, and breathed and observed the room like a beast. The whole jaw and skull were animal. His mouth hung open, and behind the fur Peter saw the huge hound-like teeth and fangs werewolves had. Eyes so milky white that if he'd parted the curtain, Peter was sure he would have seen the moon looking at him just the same way. It was terrifying.

 

But nothing bad had happened yet. Peter hoped that the hammering of his heart wasn't audible to Morse, but it probably was. Hell, it was audible to himself.

 

'Morse, you all right?' he asked carefully. It wasn't _Morse_ that made the difference, it was just that he was speaking aloud. The werewolf gave him a slow look, but turned his head away, and Peter cleared his throat quietly.

'You know who I am, don't you?'

Peter stared ahead, Morse refused to return the look. Then he was pacing slowly, one clawed paw after another.

'Okay. Now you're just… ignoring me.' Peter swallowed tightly against the strain in his throat, as he watched Morse go about whatever it was that he did, walking around like that.

He was breathing heavily, wonky ribs and spine moving uncomfortably under the rough fur and thinly stretched skin.

 

'Hey, Morse?' Peter tried carefully once more. Please, just any kind of positive little reaction, a little twitch. Just something little to let him know that he wasn't suddenly left _alone_ with the animal.

'Are you there, man?' he asked. Finally, his ears twitched and perked up.

He, Morse, the werewolf was staring at Peter, and all his four lanky legs (limbs? legs and arms?) were still shaking a little. His shoulders (withers?) were almost as tall as the kitchen counter his tea cup was still sat on.

'Jakes. Peter, from work,' he said, and Morse kept on looking at him.

It wasn't really a dog's look, or certainly not a terrier's; Peter thought he looked a little too calculating, maybe. Some old and weathered sheepdogs had it, sometimes, or something similar. At least it was a bit curious, and not just mad and rabid.

'We're mates, pals, right? You're all right,' he said, only managing a calm tone to keep himself in check. 'Come on, Morse.'

 

He settled down. Sat on the carpet like any dog, and let out a long sigh. Peter stared at the bony paws, the way the wolf-like not-quite-toes twitched a little.

 

'Is that it?' he asked.

No answer. Morse's ears tilted back and the hair at the scruff of his neck stood up, when he looked to the door. Had he heard something? He let out a slow snarling rumble from his throat, but when he turned to look at Peter, he relaxed a bit again.

'Are we all right, man?' Peter asked. He got no answer, but Morse didn't seem to mind him when he got up again to resume his uneasy routine. _Wandering._ 'Jesus, I hope that's a yes.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got to post the few werewolf concept sketches I've made on my tumblr at some point so I can link them here. It's been fun to try and figure out all the joints and expressions! 
> 
> Finding the balance between kind of funny and pretty uncomfortable is a thin line. Writing a werewolf of the same vibes is maybe more about leaving things a bit vague


	4. Your Hands. You'll Still Need Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, now it's just a matter of looking after a wild animal. Peter hopes he gets a bonus for his extra hours.

The night was growing dark, the moon was up, and Morse was a wolf. That was that.

 

When Peter had gathered the nerve to move again, rather certain of Morse's calm nature, even as a beast, he stretched his legs out a bit. At least the creature he currently was didn't attack his ankles, which was definitely good; Morse just kept on pacing and staring at the door, which felt a bit less good. Maybe he couldn't work a door with his werewolf paws, or at least Peter dearly wished that it wouldn’t come to a wrestle if he could. His shoulders tensed from the thought alone, looking at the claws and teeth before him.

 

Peter leaned over to take his shoes off. He looked across the room to where Morse had placed his, but Morse himself - hairy and growling and four-legged as he was - stood in between Peter's chair and the corner in question.

 _Oh, bugger_. Peter narrowed his eyes.

'Are you going to do something if I get up?' he asked the bloody scruffy thing. Of course, Morse didn't reply anything. He was _stretching_ ; paws scratching over the carpet and ears focusing on the door, listening to something beyond the hall outside the flat. Then he started pacing again.

'I'm getting up,' Peter said, but it might have been more to convince himself than to warn the wolf.

When Morse walked over to the other side of the room, he jumped up from the chair and snuck his way past him.

 

Peter had no idea about what Morse's father had been like, he'd never met the man and Morse had never spoken about him before he'd died, not much after either. Still, he wanted to believe that if Morse Senior could have _managed_ his son (without the medication, no less, that's what it had been about, right?), Peter would manage too if anything happened.

 

Then again - and he got it very much too late, when he was already across the room, without his shoes on, and Morse between him and the chair again.

Then again, it also meant that Morse had _attacked his own father_ under a full moon, and done so enough times for him to know of such a struggle.

The thought didn't exactly fill Peter with confidence. Not when he was trapped in Morse's flat, with the wolf circling restlessly between the door and the window and the kitchen. Not when he didn't know how much of Morse really was trapped there with him.

 

'I'm going to go and sit back down, right?'

Morse let out a low, quiet growl, a snarling and slow sound, but didn't look at him. Just stepped to and fro and stared at the door, sides heaving.

'What does that mean? Is that a yes or a no?' Peter asked, and Morse shot him a look over his shoulder. It didn't look hostile, but the only reply was a long sigh Morse let out from behind his sheepdog whiskers.

When he laid down on the carpet again, like an actual wolf except for the way he held his front paws kind of palm-side up, he started chewing at his own wrists. With a deep, grounding breath, Peter was moving again.

'I don't think you should be doing that, mate,' he blurted out as he snuck past behind Morse again, back to his chair. Morse said nothing, one forearm lodged between his huge wolf teeth. They stared at each other for a while, but eventually he turned his haunting eyes away and stopped biting at his furry hide.

'That's what I said, isn't it.' Peter sat back down, trying to make himself comfortable. 'Don't chew on your hands. You'll still need them come tomorrow.'

Morse let out a growling sound, but got up, and hesitantly let his rust-red wolf limbs be. Peter let out the breath he'd been holding. Was he making Morse so tense with how nervous he was? Probably. Unfortunately he didn't really know how else to be.

 

Morse paced, Peter sat and stared.

 

'You probably won't be finishing your tea,' Peter said, if only to fill the silence between his own heartbeats and Morse's heavy, growling breathing. He seemed restless, but stood at the door again.

'I'm going to get up and pour it out. Get myself another cuppa,' he told Morse, and when no visible argument came, got up again. He needed something to hold, something to do, or he would be joining in on the fun of anxious pacing in a minute.

Thinking about it, when Peter was pouring the cold cup down the sink and preparing himself a new one, _to hell with milk_. A dash from the bottle of scotch on Morse's table could have done some _actual_ good for the tea. Besides, Morse certainly owed him that, even if just for scaring the living daylights out of him, and for Peter driving him home and sitting the night with him.

And the Carr's table waters he pulled from the cabinet, and the tin that revealed itself to hold a stash of biscuits. Morse owed him those, too, seeing as he'd been so worried about being a good host. Should go and get some groceries if he'd asked Peter, to stock up for future full-moon guests.

 

'Hope you won't mind me making myself at home, man,' Peter said when he hurried back to his chair again. Morse's ears turned to him, but no gleaming werewolf stare followed. Peter figured that it was as good as a yes. Not that he was going to get a "yes" anyway.

He poured a generous slosh of whisky into his tea, and downed half of the cup in one draught. Morse went pacing again, walking with less clumsiness than at first, and then they sat in silence again. Morse hunkered down by the door, but it wasn't quite clear whether he thought he was keeping someone out, or waiting to get away from the flat himself.

 

Peter sipped at his tea, trying to get his heart to settle. The snacks helped a bit, too. Morse nipped and scratched at himself, neck and spine curling in an ugly way every now and then, but it looked like he was slowly starting to get more comfortable in his stretched-wrong skin.

 

After short consideration, Peter budged up with his chair, closer to Morse's hastily made bed. He lifted his feet up on it. Morse gave him a strange look.

'You what?' Peter asked carefully. The look didn't change - narrow-eyed and ears perked up. 'I'm tired, too. It's not just you werewolves that get exhausted after a full day of work.'

Morse let out a whinging groan, maybe a bit annoyed one. Peter looked at the tea cup and half-eaten biscuit in his hands.

 

'You're not pulling my leg, are you?' he asked slowly. Was Morse, a bleeding _werewolf_ of all things, really drooling after his snacks? Biscuits, which were really Morse's anyway. 'Can you even eat something like this when you're like that? I don't want you blaming me if you throw up on the carpet or something.'

And to be fair, he didn't really want to stick his hand anywhere near those jaws either, no matter how friendly they looked in comparison to most wilder werewolves, with the ginger whiskers and all. Morse took a tentative step closer, paws flexing over the carpet like meat hooks, and yeah, _no_. That was definitely enough to make Peter bend. He wasn't about to have Morse bite his fingers off.

'Woah, stay there, mate! Okay?' Peter held a hand up. Morse breathed out a loud huff, and turned his head this way and that like a horse scaling a fence, but stopped. Peter swallowed against the way his pulse raced, and took a few deep breaths.

'Right. Catch,' he said, and threw a biscuit at Morse's head. He missed his aim, Morse didn't, the biscuit disappeared.

Peter threw another. Morse caught it just as easily.

 

It was fun, but after two more Morse seemed to get fed up with his game, and started pacing again.

 

Peter froze, tea cup at his lips, when Morse walked towards him.

'What are you doing?' he whispered in a rush. 'Don't kill me just because I'm eating your snacks, Morse, I'll pay you back all right! Shit, I'll even pay you back _tomorrow_ , for God's sake, I'm not-'

Morse climbed into his bed, past Peter's feet. He turned around on his feet a few times, with a whine and a miserable look, and then he dug his way partly under the covers, head towards the foot of the bed so he could see Peter's face. He looked a bit uncomfortable on the mattress, but he also looked like he was used to the whole ordeal of settling down.

Peter waited until he was quiet and still again.

 

'So you're done running circles, now? Not going to bite my head off?' he whispered carefully. Morse gave him a slow look from under his shaggy forelock, almost like he'd caught on the suspicious tone and disagreed with his doubts.

'Sorry. I just don't know. This is the first I ever seen,' Peter said, and tried to keep his voice calm. 'I don't even know how much you follow what I say.' Morse seemed to understand that he was sorry, though, or at least he caught on the gentler tone. His big pale eyes looked a little calmer than before. The tablets must have taken proper hold by now.

Then he laid his head on Peter's ankles, drooling on his socks a little. Peter clenched his teeth as he stared at Morse, his half-lidded eyes, and the paws that were gentle and still against his leg.

Or were they hands? Why was _that_ thought making his guts turn the most, that they really were _Morse's hands_. God above, they were all too long and stiff and furry and clawed, and his fingers were like paws, but they still didn't look quite right for a real dog. Morse was holding his hands carefully against Peter's ankles.

 

'All right,' he said. Morse let out a soft sigh, and sounded just like a sleepy dog. Peter sighed, too, but gave him a stiff nod. 'Right. It's all right, now, isn't it. Just us two, man, nothing bad.'

Morse gave him a careful look from behind the fur over his milky eyes.

'You'll be fine.' Peter nodded. 'Just don't chew on my legs either, and you'll be all right.'

Morse closed his eyes, and at least it was one source of worry less for Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick coloured sketch of [the shaggy werewolf over on my tumblr](https://jasmiinitee.tumblr.com/post/185566051193/so-i-mean-werewolves-are-fun-because-i-love). "Looks like a fisherman's dog" as a friend said, and like. Yes. That's _exactly_ the look I'm going for.
> 
> I'm having such a great time writing this AU I'm not going to lie, this is some of the greatest fun I've had in a long time


End file.
